


A Terrible Weakness

by sevenofspade



Category: Glittering Cloud - Imogen Heap (Song)
Genre: Gen, Superheroes, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of this was Paladin's idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terrible Weakness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edonohana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this!

The fundamentalists tell Paladin she's a conduit for the Divine. It doesn't matter which fundamentalists, they all say the same thing. Only the Divine's name differs.

Paladin thinks it's bullshit -- she named herself after a D&D character class, of all things --, but she smiles at the media and nods politely, not telling the people who think she does good because occasionally someone else looks out of her eyes what she really thinks of them. This interview is supposed to be G-rated, after all.

So, as her smiles grows more strained, it remains unsaid that it's not a someone, it's a some _thing_ and that she does good not because but in spite of it.

Behind her eyes and on the edge of her vision, glittering clouds start gathering like armies marching to war.

Oh no, not now.

Paladin staggers to her feet, breaking the host's desk when she stumbles against it and not caring. She has to get away. She has to wind herself up and find a safe target to aim herself at.

She should have -- she should --

Shattered colours take her over. 

* * *

She wakes up strapped to a bed with the smell of lightning on her tongue. She can't remember anything for the past handful of hours. "What have I done now?"

"You've caused us quite a lot of trouble," Overseer says.

"Then maybe don't send me to do interviews I won't remember," Paladin says. "Or get me one of those dogs like epileptics have. A 'is Paladin going to lose her fucking shit in the next twenty minutes?' dog."

Overseer looks at her impassively.

"Might want to find a catchier name," Paladin says.

Overseer still refuses to crack a smile and while that's not new -- it is, Overseer, after all -- the complete lack of reaction is really starting to freak Paladin out.

"Please tell me I didn't hurt anyone," Paladin says, her voice tiny even to her own ears.

Overseer turns on the television screen that is the wall opposite Paladin's bed.

Paladin is all over the news. There are BREAKING NEWS rolling texts at the bottom of screens showing her blackout at the interview and artists' impressions showing her face -- her true face and her civilian one and she looks so much better in those sketches that the human wreck she feels like -- and the debris of what used to be the studio and and and

"Turn it off," Paladin says. Then, louder, "Turn it off!"

Overseer's gloved fingers snap and the screen goes dark.

"How the hell do you manage to get any useful information out of that mess?" Paladin asks. She sits up in the bed, ripping her restraints as she does.

Overseer doesn't dodge a chain link that ricochets to end up six inches deep in the wall and says, "It is my job."

"Cushy job," Paladin says.

Overseer just raises an eyebrow at her. Paladin rolls her eyes in response.

Overseer waves a hand and the clearest shot of Paladin from this latest debacle gets blown up ten feet high. Her profile is clearly outlines against a cloudy sky and even with the riot of colours dancing below her skin, Paladin is ready to bet a thousand or more amateur Nancy Drews are trying to match a name to that profile.

"I look like a one-woman Pride Parade," Paladin says. "Which is appropriate, but I doubt is your point."

Overseer's eyes have the same otherworldly shine they always have and Paladin feels like a butterfly pinned on a vivisection table under that gaze.

"What is your point?" Paladin asks, enunciating clearly, like Overseer is all of five years old.

"Your identity, both public and private, is a liability," Overseer says.

"You mean, I'm a liability," Paladin translates. "You're right. People were hurt because of me."

"Yes," Overseer says.

Paladin's not entirely sure what Overseer is saying 'yes' to. Probably all of it. Paladin shakes her head and bends her face into her hands. Shit. People were hurt, possibly killed. She never signed up for this.

She never signed up for any of this.

"Alright," she says, "I'll let you keep me here forever. I know you have a cell that can contain me."

Overseer blinks, slowly, like a lizard. "You cannot possibly be this stupid."

"Sorry?"

"Do you really think this organisation is looking for a pet monster? No. Pet monsters we have." Overseer starts pulling on a glove. "What it doesn't have are weapons and you, you're just going to hand them one?"

Overseer's hands are now bare and closed fists held side by side, like Paladin is expected to pick a hand. Overseer's hands open slowly, like a lizard blink. In the centre of one palm is an eye, looking lazily at Paladin. On the other hand is a ragged scar, like skin pulled too tight over a cavity. All three of Overseer's eyes are the same neon bright, metallic grey-green and Paladin recoils, more from the scar than anything else.

"What the fuck," Paladin says. It's not exactly polite of her, but there's no way the eye would fit unseen under Overseer's gloves, seeing how they're thin enough to allow for touch screen manipulation.

"You are not the first this organisation has turned into what they needed. You will not be the last." It sounds almost like a question, but Overseer's eyes -- the face ones -- are as emotionless as ever; Paladin isn't even going to try to read the emotions of the hand eye.

"Are you asking me if I want to destroy this organisation?" Paladin says and curses herself just after. The room has to be bugged.

Overseer's nod is minute.

"Overseer, your power is information manipulation. Mine is..." She waves a hand in the air. "You're a DVD set, I'm one of the Ten Plagues of Egypt. This organisation is the only thing that can contain me. Maybe they'll have me level another mountain or stop another tsunami." Paladin points at the picture of her own Disco self. "It'll be better than that."

Overseer raises an eyebrow and the glittering cloud in the shape of Paladin resolves moving until Overseer steps into view, a grey-green hole in the shape of the world. Overseer lays a hand -- the hand with the eye, Paladin now knows -- on Paladin's forehead, Paladin collapses and the screen turns to static as Paladin's skin returns to its normal shade.

"Not bad for a DVD set," Overseer says.

Paladin snorts. "I may call myself Paladin, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to join any Crusade. Why go after this organisation more any other?"

"There are no others." Overseer hands Paladin a file, skin clammy and cold under Paladin's fingers.

Paladin reads the file. The organisation has fingers in every single pie and quite a few cakes. On the last page, it tells her they knew about her oncoming blackout -- maybe there is a dog somewhere, after all -- and sent her to the interview anyway. Sent her to the interview on purpose.

"Can you kill me?" Paladin asks, looking Overseer in the eyes, all three of them.

Overseer hesitates, then nods.

"Good," Paladin says, getting to her feet. She wraps an arm around Overseer and takes off. She blasts away the ceiling to see clear night sky in the other hemisphere from the one she started the day in. When she speaks again, the rush of wind around them almost muffles her words. "If ever need be... Save me from myself."


End file.
